I've been a little blocked about writing lately (in case you hadn't noticed). Frankly, I sort of feel like I set a bar for myself with the portrait series last month. I was proud of that work and I felt like there was substance to it. Each time since then that I've sat down to write, the minutia of my life emerged and it seemed, well, unimportant.
But I miss writing when I don't write. And I feel adrift when I don't carry my camera.
And really, it's all about the minutia anyway.
The moments that make us smile in the midst of the laundry. The sweet things our children say to each other when they think we aren't listening.
The first ripe tomato of the summer.
The neighborhood kids running outside in bare feet and pajamas when the ice cream truck drives by.
So minutia it is.
I'll tell you about the braces that are being made for my toddler's feet. And how I'm sad for him and happy that it's not something worse all at the same time. I'll tell you about the first girl that broke my son's heart and how I was transported back to middle school, only this time it was worse because it was happening to someone I love.
I'll tell you about dumpster day and how much I love it.
I'll tell you about how last Sunday I planned out all our meals for the week, purchased all the ingredients and relieved about half the stress from my life in the process. I'll tell you about a wonderful book I just finished and about a self-portrait project over on Flickr which is inspiring me daily. And about a baby quilt made by a group of women who have never met for a baby most of them have never held.
It's these things that make up my life and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.